


It Burns

by whimsicalmuse



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Filming Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-23
Updated: 2004-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're wearing leather. 'Nuff said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Burns

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the [Monaboyd.net Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Monaboyd.net), which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Monaboyd_Archive/profile).
> 
> \----
> 
> Disclaimer: It ain’t true, not real, ‘cause in the real world, they’d have gotten arrested. And I would have too, for recording them.  
>  A/N: This shall be my Monaboyd fic obligations for midnightbex I place the blame entirely on The ROTK world Premiere, beizy," _And now, back to squeeing over the leathers hobbit premiere._ ," kiltslave, " _Mmm, Billy in tight blue jeans, tight white t-shirt and James Dean leather jacket, mmm. Dom behind Billy in a similar outfit while riding a Harley. The vibrations of the Harley combined with the feel of Dom hard behind him make Billy stop at a rest stop so they can fuck in the bathroom..._ ," Billy, Dom, my mother for giving birth to me, and piratesorka, cause well, usually, when I’m being a pervert, she was around somewhere. ^.^
> 
> No beta, cuase I wrote this late night, and don’t expect it to be taken too seriously.

 

 

It was fucking hot. The kind of heat that was oppressive you know? Fucking heat waves rolling along the concrete, and swirling around my ankles, and it **burns.**. Then again, the leather pants don’t help matters either. Dunno why Bill wanted me to wear these fucking things anyway, in this goddamn weather I am so **hot.**.

I can feel the rivers of sweat that are pouring down the back of my beck, my chest, clinging to my shirt, dripping from my finger tips. He puts on his sunglasses with prused lips, and pulls me on the bike by my wrist.

"Let's ride Monaghan."

*

He looked so fucking **hot.** Tight ass confined in that shiny bit of leather, thighs rubbing against the seat of the bike, driving me crazy with the sounds of leather on leather. His fingertips are dripping with the salty cool sweat of his pale wrist, which was covered in leather too. He smells like leather, salt, and sweat, and when he lifted his hand to wipe his forehead, I saw his slick pale wrist, and my mouth watered. I wanted to **bite** right there where the blue-green veins were throbbing against his skin. His shaggy hair is hanging on his head, like Ringo Star, and stubble-covered cheeks are flushed rosy from the heat. He looked at me, his lips twisted in a "come fuck me pout" and it took all I had in me not to bend him over, right there, in front of all of Wellington, and take his until he whimpered for me to stop, and continue, all at once.

I put on my sunglasses, so he couldn't see how bad I wanted him, and barked out my command.

"Let's ride Monaghan."

*

The seat is fucking **hot.** I can feel the strong vibrations of the strong engine, right between my thighs, growling in sync with every rev of the engine, as Billy takes us up the highway. The sun is starting to go down, but the heat still hasn’t let up, and we are bathed in a hot orange glow. Billy picks up the pace, and I pull myself closer to him, ‘cause I trust him, but I don’t trust the bike. One small slip and I could fall right off, and I doubt even the leather would save my ass. My fingers curl under his shirt, and I could feel the silky hairs on his belly, that lead straight to his fly. His stomach twitches in response, he always was ticklish, and I smile. I could smell his sweat, aftershave, and most importantly, leather.

“Fuck you Dominic.”

“Please.”

*

_“Please.”_

“Oh no, you seemed to find it funny to tease me before, so now, I’m just returning the favor.”

I love watching him writhe for me, and the sight of his smooth belly, leather clad thighs, and blood-red glow of the sun in his hair, will be in my dreams for a very long time. This is him at his most deadly, most lovely, and I am once again glad for the cover of the sunglasses and the bathroom walls.

I place my hand on his stomach again, and push him back against the stone wall, knowing and not **caring** that the sharp edges will dig into his back, and after a while, start to hurt. I crane my neck forward, until my face is a breath away from his fly, and I can _smell_ him, through the leather. He is damp, hot, and straining, with a want only I can fix. The power I hold in my hands, (not literally yet, but soon,) makes me giddy, and when I pull my gaze up at him, his eyes open for me, and he parts his pretty lips.

“Please.”

“No.”

*

He is going to fucking kill me. His poison lips are just a hair away from me, and I can feel his breath on me, through the leather. I know he can smell what I want, I saw his nostrils flare, and his eyes melt like a dark green jade, but he just won’t give me. Before I can complain, he opens my fly, and the cool hair sets off goose bumps on my skin. His warm hot tongue starts to worship me, and all I can do is lean back. I feel the spiky tickle of his gel-hard hair on my palm, but I pull it away to fist the air, when I feel the back of his throat.

“Oh fuck yes.”

*

“Take off the pants.”

“I thought you wanted me to wear them.”

He is toying with me, and I’m out of patience. He branded me, watching him scream for me in the dying white hot sun, and now I’ve got to make him my own. He pulls himself off the wall, with an agonizing slowness, and then takes his time pulling his pants down.

He is, as usual, not wearing any shorts.

Before he can question me, I flip him around, and press him **hard** against the cold sink. I know his arousal is pressing into his belly, and in turn, pressing into the porcelain, which was uncomfortable, I can tell by his hiss. I open him for me, first one finger, then, two, then three, painfully slow, just grazing his sweet spot, until his thighs tremble, and he can’t remember his name.

“Oh _fuck_ yes.”

Indeed.

*

The cool air is biting, and chilling, and swirling around my sweat soaked skin, and the heat is steaming off of us in waves. I’m inching closer to falling. I can’t see anything around me, but blood-red hot sunlight, and the shadows from outside against the concrete. I hear the rustle of clothes, the squeak of slick leather, then his shoes scuff the floor, and he’s inside me, and I forget my own name. All I know is his thrusting, his hips biting into me, and the sink is pressing into my belly and it **burns.**

“Open your eyes Dominic, and _don’_ fucking close them.”

I open them, and I can see us dancing in the mirror.

*

“Oh.”

He is mewling for me now, like a fucking kitten, and I can’t help but growl. He’s so beautiful when he’s like this, boneless, and liquid fire all around me, and I know, that too soon, this will be over and done. I dig my nails into the hard sink, half-holding him up, half holding _me_ up, and with a shudder, I fall all apart. The only noise I can hear, other than the sound of our breathing, is the lonely drip of a loose faucet.

*

He digs his nails into my hips, with one hand while the other grips the sink. His leather jacket is warm, and the hot smell fills my nose. I know by the quiver in his thighs that he’s nearly spent and I’m not far behind him, again. He bends his knees, to sink further, dig deeper, and higher, and with a strangled cry, he burns my very soul.

I close my eyes, and I can hear our breathing, a lone sink dripping, and he chuckles then kisses my wet neck.

“I think, we should wear leather more often Dominic.”

I smile, and rest my face against his leather clad arms, which are still resting on the side of the sink. My cheek hits the sleeve, and I stifle a shudder, cause he’s still hot, and it still **burns,** though the sun has now set.

“I would be inclined to agree.”


End file.
